Desmond Bagley - Flyaway

She sat down with a bump. 'Oh, thank God!'

'Rather thank a man called Byrne; he got Paul out of most of the holes he got himself into. Paul will tell you about it.'

'Where was he?'

I thought of Koudia and Atakor and the Tassili. 'In North Africa. He found his father, Miss Aarvik.' Her hand flew to her mouth. 'I suppose the story will be breaking in the newspapers quite soon. A complete vindication, making nonsense of all the malicious speculation.'

'0h, I'm so glad!' she said. 'But where is Paul now?'

I wondered whether or not to take her into my confidence. She was much more level-headed than Paul, but in the end I decided against it. The truth, if and when it came out, would be so explosive that the fewer in the know the better, and there must be no possible way of Paul getting to know it.

I said carefully, 'Newspapermen in a hurry can be highly inaccurate. We'll be holding a press conference in a few days' time and Paul and I are honing our statements — making sure they're just right. I'd rather he wasn't disturbed until then.'

She nodded understandingly. 'Yes,' she said. 'I know Paul. That would be better.'

'You may find that Paul has changed,' I said. 'He's different.'

'How?'

I shrugged. 'I think you'll find that he's a better man than he was.'

She thought about that for a moment but couldn't make anything of it. 'Were you with Paul when you found… the body?'

'Yes, and so was Byrne. We helped Paul bury it.' I neglected to say that we'd helped him twice.

'Who is Byrne?'

I smiled. 'A difficult man to describe. You could call him a white Targui, except that a lot of Tuareg are as white as we are. He says he used to be an American. A very fine man. Your brother owes him a lot.'

'And you, too.'

I changed the subject. 'Are you still with Andrew McGovern as his secretary?'

'Yes.'

'I'd like you to do me a favour. I'd like to meet him.'

'That can be arranged,' she said.

'But not very easily the way I want to do it. I want to meet him not at his office, and without him knowing who I am. This is a matter of some discretion, an assignment on behalf of a client.'

'That will be difficult,' she said, and fell into thought. 'His lunches are usually business affairs. Can't you see him at his home?'

'I'd rather not. I prefer not to take business into people's homes.' Considering that I'd just busted in on Jack Ellis and here I was in Alix Aarvik's flat that was a non-starter, but she didn't notice.

'He has no lunch appointments for the day after tomorrow,' she said. 'On those occasions he hardly eats at all and, if it's fine, he nearly always takes a walk in the gardens of Lincoln's Inn. If it's not raining he'll probably be there. Would you know him if you saw him?'

'Oh yes.'

She spread her hands. Then, there you are.'

I made leave-taking motions, and she said, 'When will I be seeing Paul?'

'Oh, not long. A week, perhaps; not more than ten days.' I thought that if I didn't get what I wanted within ten days I probably wouldn't get it at all.

I didn't leave all the work to Ellis. For instance, I spent an interesting morning in the Public Records Office, and on my way to see McGovern I called in at Hatchard's and browsed through the current edition of Whitaker's Almanack- Although it told me what I wanted to know I bought it anyway as part of the dossier.

Eight days later I had all I needed. I primed Ellis to let me know the next time Lord Brinton visited the office, then sat waiting by the telephone.

I pressed the button in the lift and ascended to the floor which held the offices of Stafford Security Consultants Ltd. The girl travelling up with me was one of our junior typists; probably somebody had sent her out to buy a packet of cigarettes or a bar of chocolate or something illicit like that. She looked at me and turned away, then looked at me again as though I were someone she ought to recognize. It was the beard that did it.

I stepped into the familiar hallway, walked into Reception and straight on through towards my own office. Barbara the receptionist said, hastily, 'Here, you can't…'

I turned and grinned at her. 'Don't you recognize your own boss?'

I carried on, hearing, 'Oh, Mr Stafford!' I went into my office and found Joyce hammering a typewriter. 'Hi, Joyce; is Mr Ellis in?'

'You've hurt your arm.'

'And gone all hairy. I know. Is he in?'

'Yes.'

I walked in on Ellis. 'Morning, Jack. Got the rest of the bits and pieces?'

'Yes.' He unlocked the drawer of his desk. 'The chemist's report and the marriage certificate. It was 1937, not '36.'

I nodded. There'd be a mourning period, of course.'

'What's this all about, Max?'

I unlocked my briefcase, using one hand, and he dropped the papers into it. 'Better you don't know. Is Brinton here?'

'His Nibs is with Charlie.'

'Right — stand by for fireworks.'

I walked in on Charlie cold, without announcement, ignoring the flapping of his secretary. He was sitting behind his desk and Brinton was in an armchair by his side. The armchair was new, but Brinton was noted for attending to his own creature comforts. If Charlie had seen fit to get an armchair then it meant Brinton was a frequent visitor.

Charlie looked up at me blankly, and then the penny dropped. 'Max!'

'Hello, Charlie.' I nodded at Brinton. 'Morning, my lord.'

'Well, I'm damned!' said Brinton. 'Where did you spring from? I see you've hurt your arm. How did you do that?'

'Skiing can be dangerous.' A perfectly truthful statement, if not responsive to the question. I drew up a chair, sat down, and put the briefcase on the floor.

'Where were you? Gstaad?' Brinton was his old genial self but Charlie Malleson seemed tongue-tied and wore a hunted look.

I said, 'I've been hearing some bloody funny stories about the company so I came back.'

Charlie's eyes slid to Brinton who didn't seem to notice. He still retained his smile as he said, 'From Ellis, I suppose. Well, it's true enough. We've made some changes to improve the profitability.'

'Without my knowledge,' I said coldly. 'Or my consent.'

'What's the matter, Max?' said Brinton. 'Don't you like money?'

'As much as the next man — but I'm particular how I earn it.' I turned to Charlie. 'You didn't take that clause from the Electronomics contract. So this was being cooked up as long ago as that. What the hell's got into you?' He didn't answer, so I said, 'All right; from now on we go back to square one.'

Brinton's voice was almost regretful as h e said,'

'Fraid not, Max. You don't have all that much of a say any more.'

I looked at him. He still wore the big smile but it didn't reach his eyes which were cold as ice. 'What the devil are you talking about? I own fifty-one per cent of the shares — a controlling interest.'

He shook his head. 'You did. You don't now. You made a mistake, the elementary mistake of a man in love. You trusted someone.'

I knew it then. 'Gloria!'

'Yes, Gloria. You went off in a hurry and forgot about the seven per cent interest in the firm you'd given her. I bought her shares.' He wagged his head. 'You should pay more attention to proverbial sayings; there's a lot of truth in them. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. See what I mean?'

I said, 'Seven plus twenty-five makes thirty-two. That's still not control.'

His grin had turned reptilian. It is if Charlie votes with me — and he will. It seems he's been a trifle worried lately — his financial affairs have become somewhat disordered and it's definitely in his interest to increase the profitability of the company. It fell to me to point out that simple fact.'

'I don't suppose you had anything to do with his financial disorder,' I said acidly. Brinton's grin widened as I turned to Charlie and asked quietly, 'Will you vote with him?'